In flood the doubts

Weaving in and out of the warm fuzzy posts is a post about a screaming baby. A post about a baby who is uncomfortable, hurt, upset, or angry about something. Something that I can only guess at.

Yesterday, Christopher spent all of his waking moments as screaming moments. By 2:30 AM, I was completely frazzled. I sat, rocking him in my grandmother's rocking chair, with tears streaming down my face and a voice running through my head saying,

"This was a mistake. You aren't cut out to be a mother."

Where does that voice come from? How can I fly from the safety of intuition to the despair of failure in less than 12 hours?

And now? My child is sleeping soundly beside me after a long night and a long day, and I wonder how I could let myself think such things.

Dr. Sears said something to this effect: It isn't your fault that they cry, and sometimes you can't stop them from crying. The best you can do is to not let them cry alone.

And so that's what I did. It didn't seem like nearly enough.